Road kill

Saigon is well-known for many things: amongst them is the reputation the city has for traffic chaos.  Upon my arrival here it all seemed incomprehensible: scooters densely packed everywhere, driving on the pavement and generally dodging anything that dare stand between them and their destination.  This is certainly how it appeared to an old university friend, recently in the city, who wrote in his own blog "I've come to the conclusion that all Vietnamese people are either depressed or insane... because they drive like they don't want to live anymore".  Now in my ninth month in 'Nam - this all seems perfectly normal.  As a system it does work... most of the time.

The one thing you have to remember is to give way to anything bigger than you… unless you can dodge past it unscathed of course, in which case - just go for it!  I dodge bicycles and scooters on a daily basis.  Normally, they dodge me.  The sea of scooters doesn’t move particularly quickly so drivers can generally judge where in the road you will be by the time they reach you, and adjust their line accordingly.

 

Traffic here rarely stops, there are traffic lights - but these are seen by many as advisory, rather than compulsorily.  Green to amber generally means 'give it some gas and you'll pass the junction before the other street's light turns green - so give it a go!'  Another consideration when crossing the road is that there will always be someone turning right onto or from the lane you are attempting to cross.  Unlike most western countries there is not a specified time during which pedestrians can safely cross the road.  There are however, an abundance of zebra crossings.  I think there must have been an extreme excess of white paint knocking about that the government decided would be best used decorating the tarmac: for that is the only purpose it seems to serve.  One set of crossroads in the backpacker area has four of them – one at each junction!  Alas, they are ignored by pedestrians and drivers alike.

Traffic at a stand still - a rarity in these parts

It therefore seems quite ironic that days after reading an article in a Vietnamese newspaper, which bragged about the recent statistics showing a distinct decrease in fatalities since helmet wearing laws were introduced; two of my colleagues have separate bike accidents.  A combination of torrential rain, dense traffic, swerving taxis and erratic driving (by locals, not my colleagues I hasten to add) led to a whole host of bruises, cuts, scuffed elbows, a broken thumb and severed pinky finger.

After being directed to five different hospitals between them, both are doing ok and are nicely bandaged and dosed up to numb the pain and aid the healing process.  The metal pin and hook protruding from the pinky finger is enough to turn your stomach, but is luckily covered and out of sight of children in school.

It only takes one person to forget the ‘mirror, signal, manoeuvre’ drill and all hell breaks loose here.  There was little either of my colleagues could have done to avoid these situations – they were just cases of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Hearing the news, a friend of mine later told his own story of being cut up by a youth on a bicycle.  Travelling at a steady 20kph, my friend jumped off his scooter, pulling back on the handles and lifting up the front of it – in order to avoid squashing the cyclist.  The cyclist said a cheeky ‘sorry’ (in English no less) to my friend and the other traffic on the road managed to avoid them both: life carried on as normal.  It does make you wonder though.

The xe-om drivers outside my school are particularly erratic in their quest to deliver as many teachers as possible from work to their homes.  They have their regular customers and are on to a good thing.  Weather permitting I walk home, but on the odd occasion that I do require their services, I cling on to the back and turn a blind eye to the abundance of red lights they run.  One of them has a small piece of paper reading something along the lines of:

 

“ILA teachers give me more money”.

 

I’d heard about this clown from a friend and when I eventually had the ‘pleasure’ of meeting him and his note I laughed aloud, flung 15,000d in his hand and uttered something about knowing the going rate.  Cheeky sod: if you’re going to attempt to milk people dry – don’t be so blatant!

Anyway, the fact remains – now rainy season is upon us the roads are more dangerous than ever.  I like the fact that my xe-om driver Hom drives like a geriatric – I know I can always jump off if needs be and come away relatively unscathed. *She says, touching something wooden very quickly*

 

A xx

Sweltering in a swamp!

Vietnamese school holidays can mean only one thing – summer school strikes again!  This time last year I was newly qualified and teaching at a summer school in Shropshire, UK as a residential teacher and activity leader: twelve months on, it’s summer school again, this time on top of my regular teaching schedule here in the city.  It’s an intense course, consisting of five three-hour classes each week over two months, which leaves little time for the students to forget what they have learnt during the previous lesson, but can also leave weaker members frustrated and dumbfounded at the pace of teaching!  My students are a good bunch of vivacious teens who are far more willing and capable than my regular class of the same ability.

We’re now nearing the end of the course and it’s been a busy couple of months (which accounts for the lack of blog posts lately).  As well as their lessons, students participate in movie days and a 'summer getaway': a day at a ‘craft village’ in Cu Chi (home of the famous tunnels).  This trip was by no means compulsory for teachers, but I figured it would be good fun, a chance to spend some time with members of staff I don’t see that often and could only be good for class morale.  The 6.30am start was a slight deterrent, but the offer of free breakfast, lunch and company branded summer school t-shirt and cap swung it for me! *cough*

Tootling down the road towards head office on the day of the trip, I was met by hundreds of students and a cacophony of Vietnamese voices: in situations such as this your iPod is your best friend!  So, all present and correct - donning our company clothing, we were on our way.  All students and teaching assistants appeared to have ID badges – I guessed my face and complexion alone were enough to indicate I was in the ‘right’ place.  The two hour bus journey was relatively painless and I made a new friend, in the form of Khang, a 12 year old beginner who had only been studying at the school for three days.  I only wish his enthusiasm to learn and interact with native English speakers was infectious.

Upon our arrival, we stepped off the coaches only to be hit by the horrendous heat and humidity.  It’s hot in the city most days, but this was something else.  Crossing swamps on flimsy foot bridges and arriving in a large opening, we found the pottery classes had been cancelled and we were now spending all of our time outside, with little shade or seating.  The students (accompanied by their teacher and teaching assistant) were to complete the challenges, obstacle courses and traditional Vietnamese games all in the baking heat.  Needless to say, this was not what I had signed up for – as a Guider I’m all for team building and problem solving; just not in such a harsh, unforgiving climate with more than 200 pupils ranging from ages 6 to 16.

After a few hours of trying Vietnamese style Girlguiding activities, which included separating different coloured pulses and seeds into containers, throwing a ball through a high hoop (Quidditch style) and hitting a drum whilst blindfolded; we retreated to the relatively ‘cool’ canopied eating area for a basic meal of soup, boiled rice, nondescript unidentifiable meat, soggy veggies, iced green tea and ice cream – pretty standard as far as catered lunches go here.  Feeling distinctly wobbly I slept for the majority of the bus ride home and drank my body weight in water.

The heat stroke I suffered meant I was unable to teach my class of teenagers that same evening: all that only to be credited with an extra 60 minutes in my ‘bank of hours’: not the best day.  The kids, however, seemed to love it – which is the main thing after all.  One more week of summer school to go, then I’ll have my mornings back and can spend them catching up on some much needed time in the land of nod.

 

A xx